


For Reasons Wretched and Divine

by ragtags



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Crepes, Demon, Drinking, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluffy, Hurt, Kissing, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, OTP Feels, Sadness, Smooching, Stargazing, Stars, Tender - Freeform, admitting love, angel - Freeform, drunk, kiss, tender moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 20:25:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19471534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragtags/pseuds/ragtags
Summary: In reality, a kiss lasts anywhere from a few seconds to a few minutes, depending on how long the recipients can hold their breath while exploring each others mouths. For celestial beings, breathing isn’t an issue, and those seconds ticked by slower and slower until Crowley had to wonder briefly amidst the feeling of burning against his lips and the heat of the other man’s body seeping into his every last inch of being, if this was what eternity felt like; their lips pressed against one another, bodies so desperate and clinging to the edge of the space rock that hurtled through space, and, if this was what eternity truly was, and were either of them ready for that?





	For Reasons Wretched and Divine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Goober](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goober/gifts).



> Took a break to give y'all this fun little one shot fic (I say little- it's very long) I hope y'all like it! Thanks in advance for reading!

London was quite. The whole world was quiet after Armageddon failed to take hold, and for all of humanity, they rejoiced in the silence that came with it. However, things weren't as quiet in a tiny bookshop in central London. No, deep within the streets of Soho, an angel and a demon were having a very...expressive and slightly drunken argument.

“I don’t think you quite understand the  _ weight  _ of it,” comes the overly exasperated voice of an angel who had, for the last several hours, been attempting to reach a point in his argument. He seemed to be failing.

“What’s there to understand?” comes the hiss of a demon whose face is so smug, one could positively feel the radiating energy of someone about to go in for the kill strike and single handedly win the argument at hand.

“Humans are  _ delicate _ , Crowley! They aren’t just...sacks of flesh that you can abuse for your own entertainment.” The look on Aziraphale’s face was painful as he took a sip from his glass of wine. In fact, the entire back room of the bookshop had been littered with several bottles by this point, and with each new bottle opened, the argument only seemed to grow thicker and heavier. Crowley, for all intents and purposes, was leaning against a cabinet that housed several less important prophetic books, a few random scrolls, and a black box with intricate Victorian designs on it. The demon scoffed at the angel’s rebuttal and finished his freshly poured glass in one large swig. If one could have described it, they would have said the man in the bookshop simply unhinged his jaw and let all the wine slide down his gullet. 

“I don’t see your point, angel,” he hummed contentedly as he set the glass down and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket, “humans are quite literally the epitome of an easy time.”

Aziraphale let out an audible gasp as he stared down his demon friend. Crowley, noticing, smiled wider. 

“You should see humans kissing,” he chuckled, refilling his glass, “see humans kiss and tell me how  _ fragile  _ they are, angel.”

There was a moment of silence as the demon took a long sip of his freshly poured glass, all while watching Aziraphale shift uncomfortably in his seat and take a sip of his own wine. 

Point to Crowley: 1

Point to Aziraphale: 0

“My dear,” Aziraphale finally said, breaking the silence as he sat up straight, “I have, and I believe it is humanity at its breaking point.” His voice was steadfast, even in tone, and a little warning as he spoke. Crowley raised a brow and chuckled. 

“Can’t argue with that,” he mused, still smirking, “they’re so small. Of course any act of…” he made a rolling gesture with his hand, “intimacy is going to be wrought with...neediness. They don’t get it. They’re finite.”

“That is exactly my point,” Aziraphale countered, looking a little more miffed than an angel should. He took a longer sip before standing up, as if standing up was going to help him further his point, “they are finite creatures. They are fragile. I don’t see why you seem to think intimacy with humans isn’t something...terribly heartbreaking.” There was a small, a very tiny pleading look. Crowley only gave a huff and a very solid, very noticeable roll of the eyes. 

“Do you not agree?” Aziraphale asked pointedly, frowning as he stepped in front of his desk; arms folding in front of his chest. “It’s a terribly painful experience.”

Crowley didn’t bother supplying the angel with an answer. Instead, he simply took his drink and sipped it; in his mind he’d already won this argument and was well past arguing it further. Aziraphale, on the other hand, stood there like a cross child, frowning and staring the demon down. After a minute of no response, the angel let out a sigh, rolled his own eyes and grabbed his glass, muttering under his breath.

“Forty,” Crowley eventually said as the angel began walking out of the room and into the main foyer of the library, hoping to get some space from this heated argument.

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale whipped around, his face smeared with confusion and some minor frustration that Crowley just  _ wasn’t seeing the point. _

“Kissed forty. Slept with about...twenty-two of them? I think? Last I counted anyway. And that’s just in the last century.”

There was another audible noise that came out of Aziraphale’s already open mouth as he did his best not to keep his jaw from slamming onto the ground. It was a noise that landed somewhere between a squeak, gasp, and utter disbelief. The angel, mid stride out of the room, turned on a heel and walked back in, balking at what he’d just heard.

“I-I-I,” he began, unsure of how one was supposed to take that sort of broad newscast. It didn’t help that Crowley was still smiling like a child at Christmas who realized he was getting a puppy but tried to act as if he knew nothing about it. 

Point to Crowley: 2

Point to Aziraphale: 0

Sometimes, things happen for reasons that we can’t understand or comprehend in the moment. For Crowley and Aziraphale, the moments that were about to unfold were going to be equally confusing, and hard to interpret for some time.

It was meant to be a display of dominance, a display of Crowley securing his three- nil pointer in his argument against the angel about humans and how ‘fragile’ their existence was. The demon took a stride forward, pausing with a smirk on his face as he stared his companion down; Aziraphale’s mouth still agape with a dumbfoundedness Crowley hadn’t expected to see.

“Tell me, was there  _ no one?  _ Not one human, in...six thousand years?” Crowley smirked- he had Aziraphale metaphorically pinned right where he wanted him. “In six thousand years, Aziraphale the angel had  _ no real experience  _ in that department and yet he sits here like an expert and tries to lecture  _ me  _ on human interaction?”

“That is, that is none of your business, Crowley.” Aziraphale huffed, standing straighter and averting his gaze to fix his clothes. 

The demon’s lips curled in a way similar to a cat who’d learned to use a tin opener.

“So that’s a no then,” he hummed, striding across the room and readying his hand and pointer finger for an ‘I-Told-You-So’ moment of victory when the angel looked up at him; his face bore a sadness that Crowley had never seen before- and a fondness that graced the angel’s features that reminded the demon of...well, of longing. 

“Once. Just once.”

The admission alone seemed to stop Crowley in his tracks, yellow eyes staring down at the angel with a bit of surprise and a whole lot of curiosity. 

Point to Aziraphale (for subsequently shutting Crowley right up): 1

“I’m sure you remember the dear fellow, Crowley,” Aziraphale mused somewhat dismissively, looking from his clothes to a spot in the room as he waved his hand in a never-you-mind sort of gesture, “it was that Oscar Wilde fellow. I want to say it was...1892? London. He came to my bookshop often.” 

“Oh yeah, that’s right. The uh...poet guy, right? Seemed a bit stiff if you ask me.” 

Aziraphale shot him a rather displeasing look, frowning as his hands came round and rested behind his back. 

“I will not have you speak ill of Oscar, Crowley,” His voice was curt, bordering on disappointment in the regard that Crowley would even think about saying something out of line, “he was a lovely gentleman who was unfortunately living in the wrong period of human history. His books, his plays, Crowley, they were something to be marveled at.” It was true; Aziraphale was quite known for his collection of prophetic books, surely, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t hold special places within his shop for certain playwrights and other authors that he'd ...gotten to know over the years. Wilde, Shakespeare, and Stoker all had their individual wings on the second floor, deep within the archives of long forgotten scholars. 

Crowley stiffened a little at Aziraphale’s sudden curt tone and matter of fact statements. The angel took a step forward, his hand raised and finger pointed in the demon’s direction.

“So he was a good writer and maybe a decent kisser. Still ended up alone in a gutter in Paris, I think.”

“Don’t you dare. Crowley, I am warning you. Do not. Oscar was a gentle soul, who cared so deeply; who so reverently dedicated himself to humanity. He was wonderful, and he was locked in a world that did not understand him. Just because you are a foul demon who doesn’t detect the feelings of love does not mean that you get to stand here and, and, talk ill about a man you didn’t even know.”

Somewhere deep inside Crowley’s being, he couldn’t help but admire the angel in his stoic defense of the Victorian playwright. Aziraphale seemed to be quite passionate in his stance, going even so far as to scrunch his face up to make himself look angry. The demon did his best to suppress a chuckle at the angel’s features.

“He was quite an extraordinary man. But, like most of humanity, he was lonely. He craved for something much deeper than you or I could provide in such a lifetime.” Aziraphale’s face slowly loosened from anger to a sort of sadness as he thought back to those times.

“I am an angel. A being of love, naturally. It is my sole purpose to see to it that humanity knows and understands that it is loved beyond comprehension. I had, wrongfully, assumed that I could simply...help keep Oscar on the right path when he started coming around to the shop. I didn’t realize, I didn’t understand at the time how fragile humans were. They are...small. Finite. I made the mistake of giving him the idea that he could find love and solace in another. I didn’t tell him that I was an angel of course. But I am sure he wrote about it...somewhere. When they kiss, when...he kissed it was...well, my dear, if you must know- I could feel his entire world shattering around him. He tried to explain it, briefly, but there was not much I could do. He spent the remaining years of his life, unfortunately, out of touch and far from my shop. I still couldn’t believe when he passed.”

There was a strong sadness in Aziraphale’s voice as he recounted his time with Wilde, looking from Crowley to the black Victorian box behind the demon and then down to the floor before taking his glass of wine and finishing it. It was, in all truths, a hard story and it was a story that didn’t even begin to grasp at the proverbial straws of the situation. Wilde had told him, point blank, how he’d felt. How humans who don’t experience ‘normal’ attraction felt when they found someone they could share in experiences with. Aziraphale may have been only kissed once by Wilde, but it was something horrifying enough to shake him from doing it again. As Wilde had put it:

_ “Kissing you feels like my Earth is ending; it’s shattering into millions of pieces. There is nothing else I need, so long as I have your light and your presence. You feel warm; it feels as if my entire body is being filled with warmth when I’m with you, but it feels so sad to know that we only have so much time. We could never be seen in public, and that in and of itself is heartbreaking enough for me to wish never to experience this joy again, but oh, how I long for it my dear.” _

Aziraphale was quite content in not sharing every detail of his fling with Crowley, and as they stood there in momentary silence, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of confidence in him. He’d gotten the demon to shut up twice now, and that in itself was a feat worth reveling in. They took a moment; Aziraphale reminiscing silently, and Crowley watching with intrigue and curiosity. 

Of course, scores could never be tied 2-2. Crowley advanced in two steps, saddling up next to the angel and looking down at him. Aziraphale looked up with a start, brows knitting in confusion.

“That’s nice and all,” Crowley began, taking the wine glass from his counterpart and setting both glasses down on a nearby bookshelf, “but those are humans. Those aren’t angels or demons. And that was  _ one  _ human. One human doesn’t stand for the...billions of humans that currently live on this Earth. And I can prove it.”

The angel began to protest, began to open his mouth with some counter argument that would have gone something along the lines of,  _ ‘Yes, he was one human but one human against every human and I’m sure I would feel and be told the exact same thing and so would you if you bothered to listen long enough to hear them out.’ _ but Crowley’s hand had risen and a finger slid under the angel’s chin pitching it upward for a better view. Crowley smiled, and it was devious- the kind of smile where he so thoroughly believed himself to be the victor of this fight, and he would prove that he was the victor in one swooping action.

Crowley was never, and possibly would never be a gentle lover. He was a demon, dipped in temptation and desire; a creature of wants and needs, destined to forever roam the Earth and soil those who would have been pure of heart and mind until they met him. As one song sung and written by George Thorogood and the Destroyers, so eloquently put it, he was Bad to the Bone. He was cunning wit tied up in a bow of lies and deceit, and for the most part he was good at his job. He could make a rich woman beg, he could make a good woman steal; he could make an old woman blush, and he could make a young woman squeal if he wanted. But that, in the end, didn’t seem to matter.

As lips met lips, something happened. Something deep within Crowley’s entire being shifted and changed. Perhaps it was simply the talking up Aziraphale had just given him, clouding his mind with the thoughts of a dead writer, or maybe it was something altogether different. There were...sparks. Well, metaphorical sparks anyway, and they danced across the demons lips as he pressed firmly against the angel’s, stinging and pulsing all the way up into his cheeks. All at once, Crowley felt as if he were rising and falling like the ocean waves during a full moon. He was, complete and destroyed in one simple act.

Crowley was falling. Just like he’d fallen from Heaven but this time it was different, it was warranted and desired. He didn’t know how long he’d held his lips there, didn’t know how long he’d initiated the kiss and quite frankly he couldn’t remember when Aziraphale stopped making a startled noise and fell into the kiss, but soon enough both were equally fighting to stay afloat in this turbulent sea they didn’t expect to find themselves in. What had started out as a simple mashing of lips turned into something much more as Crowley pushed against Aziraphale, trying to pin him against a bookshelf, only to feel resistance as the angel fought back by grabbing at the demon’s coat and shoving him towards the back room, back to a sofa that had only just been used to stop the end of the world, and, maybe a few drunken nights here and there (those were usually pretty PG and ended with them sobering up and grabbing dinner).

In reality, a kiss lasts anywhere from a few seconds to a few minutes, depending on how long the recipients can hold their breath while exploring each others mouths. For celestial beings, breathing isn’t an issue, and those seconds ticked by slower and slower until Crowley had to wonder briefly amidst the feeling of burning against his lips and the heat of the other man’s body seeping into his every last inch of being, if this was what eternity felt like; their lips pressed against one another, bodies so desperate and clinging to the edge of the space rock that hurtled through space, and, if this was what eternity truly was, and were either of them ready for that?

But as quickly as it started, it ended; Aziraphale pulling himself away gasping with a look of utter shock and confusion plastered across his face. The exact same could be said for Crowley, save for the longing, yearning desire to pull him back in and go for a second round; the desire to feel himself endlessly falling in the light of the angel was by far the most tempting thing he had experienced and it demanded more time, more attention; Crowley was desperate and gasping like a moth to flame for Aziraphale. Yet he composed himself, offering a bit of a cough as he straightened his jacket and licked his lips and teeth, eyes avoiding the shocked expression of Aziraphale who was still open mouthed and gaping at what had just happened.

Crowley shuffled a bit, unable to speak, watching Aziraphale for a moment before excusing himself out of the bookshop and right on home to his flat.

Winner: Aziraphale

\---------------------------------------------------------------

They didn’t talk much about that night. In fact, several weeks went by before Crowley even dared to resurface anywhere near the bookshop. The only reason he had, was he’d made a promise several weeks back, prior to that night, that the pair would (reluctantly on Crowley’s part) take a trip back to Paris. Why? Because Aziraphale had been, and was continually still demanding they go back at some point for cr ê pes. 

_ “But Crowley,” _ he’d protested some several weeks back,  _ “you don’t understand. Cr _ ê _ pes are only good IN Paris. And since there’s no more End Of the World, it would be simply lovely to just, oh I don’t know, take a trip without having to worry about--” _

_ “A revolution?” _ Crowley had mused with a frown. In any event, they had made plans and once plans were to be made, they were made to be kept. Aziraphale was well known for keeping booking arrangements and schedules, so when the days drew closer, he found himself ringing the demon up to remind him wholeheartedly about their trip. 

“You’re sure you want to go?” Crowley groaned into the telephone as he sat on his throne, staring out across the Thames at Big Ben.

“Yes! Of course I do! I heard of a lovely new place just outside the Marché biologique Raspail market. It will be lovely, I’m sure. And it’s been so long since we’ve had lunch.”

“We had lunch literally four weeks ago.”

“Yes, but these are  _ cr _ ê _ pes _ , Crowley. And it’ll be a nice change of pace to London!”

Crowley gave an audible groan as he stared at the receiver and sighed. “Fine. I’ll pick you up in an hour. But we’re driving.”   
  
“I’m not sure that’s a--”

Crowley sneered, hanging up the phone before Aziraphale could finish his sentence.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

“I did try telling you,” Aziraphale stated point blank as the pair stood on the side of a river ferry, the Bently parked nicely in the back of the boat with the rest of the cars. Crowley found himself keeling over the side of the ferry, doing his best not to puke. Even for a serpent, he never quite liked the feeling of a boat rocking in water, “you can’t drive your car through the English channel.”

“I don’t see why not,” Crowley began, pausing for a moment to lean over the side of the boat. He wouldn’t ever vomit, because he was a demon who didn’t eat so being nauseous was more of a psychological side effect rather than an actual feeling. He’d feel the waves rocking and he would bend over like he was about to have a tragic upheaval, but he would settle a moment later and stand up straight, clutching his stomach and groaning in agony. Aziraphale would give him pointed looks and little pats on the back to try and stop him from having the reaction (it helped a bit) but the only thing on Crowley’s mind was land. Once on land he didn’t care what they did, but he wasn’t much of a fan of this.

“My car survived driving through a ring of fire...I don’t see why--”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, shaking his head, “you know the answer to that. And unlike last time, I seriously doubt there will be a second chance at full restoration of that vehicle.”

Crowley sneered, rolling his eyes before leaning back over the edge of the boat and groaning. Aziraphale gave a low hum, rubbing his hand over the demon’s back the rest of the ride there.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Paris was known for many things throughout the years. Revolution, good food, an amazing way of living, and of course, love. But the angel and demon that found themselves sitting outside a little cafe near a busy market weren’t there for anything other than food. There were no temptations to be had, no miracles to perform; just them, two plates of cr ê pes (Crowley would eventually throw his over to Aziraphale who happily obliged taking them), some wine, and each other’s company. For the most part, everything seemed to be going nicely and as planned. The Bentley sat parked a few streets away, the sun was peeking out from behind some clouds, and Aziraphale was gasping out loud with each bite of his food.

“ _ Honestly _ , Crowley,” he breathed out in between bites of his lunch, “these are simply  _ divine. _ Absolutely, hands down, the best cr ê pes I have eaten in a long time.”

“When’s the last time you had cr ê pes, exactly?” Crowley mused, quite un-amusedly. In fact, if either of them had been paying attention, they would have realized Crowley had been staring at Aziraphale’s lips for several long minutes, lost in a train of thought that started with, ‘ _ I want that’ _ , and ended with,  _ ‘but why?’ _ However he did his best to hide whatever facial expressions he was making and replaced them with minor looks of disgust at the display unfolding in front of him.

“Uh,” Aziraphale began, pausing with his fork mid way to his mouth with a large piece of strawberry and cr ê pe attached to it, “17...93 I believe, actually. I don’t think we went again after The Reign of Terror. Shame, really. I’m sure we missed some really amazing restaurants.” He gave a solemn look at his food, as if wishing farewells to experiences he’d never have. Crowley gave a groan; how he desperately wished for something stronger than a glass of wine right now. He paused mid thought, straightening up and looking at his glass of wine. The demon gave a tiny smirk, snapping his fingers and watching the once red liquid turn a sort of amber color. Aziraphale gave the demon a stern look.

“What? It’s Talisker. Better than the wine they were giving us here.” 

“Crowley, that’s-- the wine is simply superb. Honestly, I wish you would just appreciate this even a little. It’s quite delicious, and paired with the wine, you really can’t go wrong.”

Again, the demon gave an audible groan and leaned back in his seat. He didn’t mind spending time with Aziraphale, truly he didn’t; but it would be a lie to say he didn’t enjoy pulling on the angel’s ropes just a little bit. The pair sat in silence for a good long while with Aziraphale enjoying each and every bite of food and sip of wine, and Crowley slamming back glass after glass of miracle’d Talisker whiskey. The sky above them began to grow a little darker as gentle rumbles of thunder rolled against the sky to the north.

“I want another go,” Crowley stated after a long while.

“Pardon?”

“Another go. I want a second go. Do I have to spell it out, angel?”

Aziraphale gave the demon a confused look, shrugging a little before looking around. 

“At what, dear? A revolution? Temptations? I’m not sure I follow.”

“Kiss. That night in your shop,” Crowley began, feeling a warmth begin to flush across his cheeks; thankful his sunglasses kept the angel from seeing the tiny flickers of desperation in his eyes, “I want a rematch. You had me wound up and I don’t think that’s fair.”

Aziraphale nearly choked on a piece of strawberry as Crowley began to explain what he meant. The angel sputtered and coughed, thumping a fist against his chest as he looked over at his friend shocked.

“I’m, I’m sorry, what? Why on Earth would you--”

“Because I still think you’re wrong and I’m going to prove it.”

Crowley sat there, strumming his fingers against the table in an agitated fashion as he glared at Aziraphale who was all but wearing the biggest smile on his face by this point. The angel lifted his napkin from his lap and gently patted his lips, and Crowley felt a shock of electricity shoot up his spine and into his brain as he silently did his best not to curse the inanimate objects that had permission to grace the angel’s lips while he had to sit there and watch.

“My dear, if that night proved anything, it proved that I was right, and that you, my dear fellow, were quite wrong. And I should hope you’ve learned from it. I doubt a rematch, in any sense of the word would prove fruitful in your endeavors.”

He gave the demon a quick side glance before returning to his meal, still pleasantly happy in knowing that he’d out-smarted the demon. Crowley, on the other hand, sat there and simmered, hissing silently to himself as he watched the angel eat, desire growing in his belly. He was a demon; a tempter and a liar and he was so terribly hungry to bathe in Aziraphale’s light again- to breathe in every last inch of that celestial angel until he himself was flooded with enough Grace and Holy Light that he exploded. The snake could feel it itching every last part of his body, but he refrained, and sat there with a bummed expression as rain began to drizzle from the sky.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

A trip to Paris for cr ê pes wasn’t a two hour stop over and then return home. Typically, when either of them travelled for work, they made it a point to spend a day or two and ‘see the sights’. For France, there wasn’t much they hadn’t already seen, so when the opportunity presented itself to drive to the south of France, both had agreed upon an old city that neither of them had visited.

Lacoste was a small town, quiet and serene- it was a town on a hill with old stone structures dating back to the early 1300’s. It was, if one could put it, a paradise with no light pollution and a thriving bustling human community that equaled the stars. Aziraphale had read bits here and there throughout history about this little town and had requested for a future trip that they stop, so when the opportunity presented themselves, the pair didn’t hesitate to hop into the ol’ car and begin their trek down. For the most part, the entire journey was quiet, save for the constant low rumblings of Freddie Mercury in the background as the Bentley continued on it’s Queen’s Greatest Hits loop, and even though the matter seemed to be put to rest, neither party could deny that there was a strange tension in the air.

Crowley had done his best to say very little as they left Paris, his brain still working through the desires he so desperately wished to fulfill, while also proving Aziraphale wrong. He wasn’t entirely sure how he planned to go about it, but, there was seven hours ahead of them and at least a full night or two in a tiny little town on a hill. He would figure something out.

They’d arrived at the bottom of the town around early evening and after some kind and generous offers (miracles) they’d managed to get a room in a local inn for the next couple of nights. Aziraphale was quite excited about this (it meant more food to try and a whole new way of living for a few days) and made no bones about exclaiming how excited he was as the pair began their long walk uphill towards their inn.

“Oh, this is going to be most exciting. It’s like a little holiday we’ve set up for ourselves!” he’d hummed, clasping his hands together as they walked. Crowley merely hissed and kept his eyes averted towards the ground. Sure, for Aziraphale this was going to be a holiday in Heaven, but for Crowley...this was going to be several days in a Hell worse than Hell.

They’d managed to get separate rooms, which shouldn’t have been much of a surprise considering only one of them slept, but Crowley still found himself shocked and amazed when Aziraphale handed him a key to the room next to his. The inn wasn’t like your normal inn; each room’s door faced outward over a terrace that overlooked the mountains and forests of France. It was a breathtaking view to behold and it made the angel all the more excited when they’d finally reached the peak and looked out over the town. 

“Simply beautiful,” Aziraphale sighed contentedly. Crowley gave a groan and unlocked the room to his door before walking inside and shutting it before the angel could say anything more.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

There was a knock on Aziraphale’s door around 11 pm. The angel, who had by all means settled himself into a good book gave pause as he looked at the door before flicking his hand and miracling it open. Crowley stood in the doorway, glasses off and done up in fresh clothes. The angel’s brow raised in curiosity and mild confusion as the demon skulked into the room.

“Yes? Can I help you dear?”

“Wanted to know if you, uh, I don’t know, wanted to go for a walk? See what the place is like at night or whatever?”

“Oh! Oh that sounds, why that sounds simply wonderful. Yes, of course!” Aziraphale was up in an instant, crossing the room and grabbing his jacket and shoes. Crowley gave the angel a hard eye roll as he watched the other frantically get ready before running out the door with Crowley in tow. 

The town at night was much different than what it was during the day. Lights flickered on and off in several houses, the different smells of freshly baked bread still wafted in the air along with the nearly forgotten smells of homemade dinners. It was charming to say the least and with each step down towards the main part of town, Aziraphale couldn’t help but comment and gasp at each little intricate detail the town had to offer. It was as if the angel was falling in love over and over and over again and it made Crowley’s stomach lurch. It wasn’t that Crowley didn’t enjoy the angel’s chattering on, he just wasn’t much of a fan of the ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ when it came to silly things like basic medieval architecture. They’d both seen much more marvelous structures back in the 1340’s, and the fact that this was something Aziraphale gawked at left the demon wondering why he’d even bothered putting up with the angel in the first place.

They walked in silence for a bit (minus Aziraphale’s idle chatter), turning down several small one way streets and coming out within a now closed up and deserted market, that would, in fact, be full of lively action come morning. They walked through the main streets of town, slowly making their way back up hill and going further still past their rooms at the inn and all the way to the top of the hill they resided on. They were lucky; just above the town sat a patch of grass and wildflowers that danced in the moonlight- it was as if the town had made a spot specifically at the highest point for midnight meetings and secret little rendezvous for lovers. It was, in fact, an excellent place for those who feigned sleep to go and look up at the moon and the stars. For Crowley, this was probably the closest he’d felt to Heaven in a long while as they stood there at the top of the hill under a full moon and clear sky. 

“Simply stunning,” the demon mused with his head craned upwards towards the endless void of stars that danced in the dark velvet blue sky.

“What is?” Aziraphale asked, his head also now craning up to look at the stars. “Oh,” he breathed out, blue eyes widening at the sight of them all. There weren’t many stars in London, and the angel couldn’t honestly remember the last time he’d seen the Heavens and the galaxies from Earth. The Earth and humanity was a beautiful thing, but he did resent electricity and light pollution a little bit. “Oh yes, yes it is, isn’t it dear?”

They stood in silence a moment, staring up at the wide, endless sky simply admiring it in all its beauty before one of them spoke again.

“You know,” Crowley began, his voice a little distant as he stared up at the night sky, naming each and every star and their placement from memory inside his head, “I built that. Well. I helped build that.” He turned a bit, searching, and then pointed at a rather beautiful collection of stars. “That. I built all of that.”

Aziraphale stood, dumbfounded and shocked at the revelation he’d just learned from the serpent. There was something inside of him that stirred, something that screamed of love as he looked up into the night sky. The poor dear wound up sitting down in the grass, because the weight of it all- the weight of Crowley’s admission to building the stars and the weight of his Fall seemed to be too much for the angel to handle. The demon, noticing, turned and looked down at his friend before settling down next to him.

“Amazing,” Aziraphale breathed, “simply stunning. Your work is...you did  _ all of this? _ Was this...your duties?”

“Yeah. I built the stars and galaxies. Thought I did a good job.” Crowley gave a little shrug, his eyes fixated back up on the sky. “They just told me to get up there and...well, get creative. So I did.”

“You did such beautiful work, Crowley. Humans have, and will always sing of your work. You have, you have simply no idea how many famous authors have looked up and seen this and wrote about it in such...beautiful and romantic ways.”

Crowley gave a hard eye roll to no one in particular as the angel next to him gushed openly about how beautiful the stars were. He took a beat though, his head turning from the stars to look over at Aziraphale who was bathed in the light of a full moon, and whose eyes were illuminated with the vastness of space as he stared longingly, lovingly at each and every last creation that Crowley had put time, effort, and love into. Something surged in his chest and he did his best to quell it. If he was going to prove his argument, now was going to have to be the time- now, with Aziraphale’s guard down and without influences of arguments past- if Crowley was going to fall into desire and temptation, he was going to need to be quick.

The demon shuffled a little closer to Aziraphale who was still so fixated on the stars above and didn’t notice, his hand rising towards the angel’s face and luring his finger once more under Aziraphale’s chin. The touch seemed to startle the angel to attention, whose face turned almost instantly with a wide eyed wonderment at everything he’d just taken in. He gave the demon a questioning look, almost confused by the touch, but before he knew what was happening the demon was leaning in once more.

He needed this. He needed to burn and to live. He needed to feel the warmth of Aziraphale wrapping around every last inch of him; needed to feel the pale moonlight grace his skin with the heavenly glow of God as She Blessed of Forsake them from Her existence. He didn’t care who was watching, didn’t care of Heaven or Hell rioted- no, he coveted those soft lips and that embrace far more than anything he’d desired before, and within a matter of seconds, his wishes seemed to come true. They met, somewhere in the middle, and fire was blazing across his lips as his hand shifted from under Aziraphale’s chin to cupping his cheeks. The angel made a small, surprised noise, but Crowley only smiled into it. He had control, he had control, he had...

He was falling. Crowley was falling once more and he delighted in each aspect of it. Whether it was real or not he didn’t care anymore, as his hands pulled the angel up over him, tugging with desperation to be filled with light; Aziraphale, momentarily blinded once more by the sudden act of intimacy obliged after a moment, shuffling up on top of Crowley as he leaned down and returned each kiss with one of his own. Sparks drew across his lips and tingled as they paused only to bend down and kiss again. It would have been a lie, naturally, if Aziraphale had denied that he didn’t like what Crowley had done the first time (and it would have been considered a sin if he denied that he’d ever held feelings for the demon at all after 6,000 years) and he was thankful that the demon had, after all, initiated it (he’d planned on coming round at some point for this rematch after it was suggested but...Aziraphale was patient where Crowley was not) and he too found himself wrapping around Crowley as if his life depended on it. There would be a moment of pause, before both of them ensued with little frantic kisses, as if desperation herself had come in on swift horses and reminded them that time was finite, even though they were not.

Crowley let out a small noise as Aziraphale gently bit at his lower lip, smirking all the while with the demon writhing underneath him. Crowley attempted to reciprocate the bite, though a little hard, and Aziraphale was chuckling as he peppered Crowley’s lips with softer kisses.

“No, no, dear,” the angel breathed out after a moment, kissing Crowley’s lower lip again before gently nipping at it, “like this. Gentle.” It took a moment but the demon was a fast learner, suckling on the angel’s lower lip and growling contentedly. Even Aziraphale gave a little hum of approval as he leaned into it and savouring each and every second. 

Moments once more ticked by into what felt like minutes and minutes that felt like eternities over and over again. Crowley, on the grass with Aziraphale on top of him, his entire body shaking gently from the feelings of love, and kindness, and comfort that Aziraphale radiated off of him. If he were any other kind of demon, surely, he would have burned up under the suns rays that made up Aziraphale’s being. He was needy, desperate, yearning even for that light and warmth to strangle him- and he welcomed it. Oh, how Crowley welcomed death if it was at the hands of Aziraphale and by the lips of the angel. He would welcome a new eternity of Hell if it meant being able to dig his fingers into the flesh that made up that corporeal body of a librarian (don’t call him that- he hates that) and learn each and every last facet that held the angel together. It was a pity that they didn’t have their wings in these forms; Crowley would have run his long, bony fingers through those pristine feathers for days until his fingertips withered into nothing.

For Aziraphale, this entire experience was something much different from Crowley’s. He could feel the temptation, the desire, the lust emanating from Crowley’s entire being and something entirely new befell the angel as he accepted and leaned into that first kiss. He wanted it, begged for it secretly at night in his bookshop that one day they could go the same pace, that he could be what Crowley expected or thought of him; it was a scary thought and one that kept the angel at bay for so very long. Once Armageddon had been stopped, there didn’t seem to be a need anymore for worrying over sides, or worrying about whether or not what he thought of in his privacy mattered to anyone. Heaven had quite graciously left him alone since that day of his failed execution, and they only ever sent letters if they desperately needed some minor miracle or legwork done for the big offices upstairs. Aziraphale had, and was always eager to comply and happy to do the job, but this? This was total Damnation if they found out, and the thought of that fine line that he walked drew something from him that he’d never expected to feel. It was a rush of sorts, something that left him wanting more after the initial shock had left him the first time back in the bookshop. He may have won the argument that night, but Crowley had gone and won something much grander.

Eternities passed in a matter of minutes, maybe even an hour, but in the end they managed to pull themselves apart long enough for the demon to let out a full body laugh; one that rang out through the quiet night sky, and one that left the angel chuckling as he tried to sit back. 

“I think,” Crowley mused after a breathless moment, smiling widely as he looked at Aziraphale, “that I’ve won that round.”

Aziraphale gave a snort, dipping his head back down and placing soft, gentle kisses along Crowley’s neck which made the demon gasp in a way neither of them had heard before. The angel smiled against his skin, teeth grazing against gooseflesh.

“I think, my dear,” he began with a low hum, “you’ll see quite frankly that I,” he paused, placing another kiss along Crowley’s neck, “have easily bested you.”

“Shut up,” Crowley hissed with a smile on his face as he pulled the angel’s lapels once more, dragging him down into another kiss. They would stay like that through the night, locked in an embrace and holding on for dear life as they floated endlessly on a rock hurtling through space.

They were eternal, but Earth was finite. It would, inevitably come to an end one day and they would be sent back to their respective home offices to...do whatever it is they were meant to do; but so long as the Earth remained, so did they, together.


End file.
